I’m writing this from the o2. I’m at a Bjork concert with Lyn and a few other friends. John suggested going a few days ago. I’ve never really been into bjork, but since I want to maintain a good friendship with Lyn, I choose to come. To be honest, though, I can’t say that I’m very taken by it. Lots of jingling bells and banging of drums, but not much rhythm: postmodernity lapsing into pretentiousness. Oh well, perhaps I’m being too harsh and will write something more positive tomorrow, but I’m yet to hear a lyric which makes sense.

I was just trundling back from Elthan high street when, coming the other way, I passed another guy  with CP in a powerchair. We had passed eachother briefly before and we had said  hi, but this time we stopped and had a brief conversation. His name was Fred and we live on the same road. His speech was clearer than mine so he didn’t use a communication aid, but I suspect he was   older than me. I said he  could pop round sometime as he seemed a friendly chap. That marks the first friend I’ve made since moving to Eltham – hopefully the first of many.

I encountered something revolting yesterday. Going along Eltham high Street, I encountered a stall for the Brexit Party. Naturally I stopped to tell them what I thought of them, but it soon became clear that the main guy running it had no idea what he was talking about. He tried to tell me that the party advocated things it blatantly does not, and that it had nothing to do with Nigel Farage. The revolting thing, though, was that one of the former  students I used to work with at Charlton Park Academy was also manning the stand. She had quite severe learning difficulties, and would have had no idea what she was advocating: the Farageist p’tahks were obviously using her to make their party appear inclusive. I tried to explain  my concerns to them but they weren’t listening. Can those scumbags sink any lower?

I was rather bewildered this morning when I rolled into my usual voluntary session at school to find everyone wearing pyjamas. I was nonplussed: had I wandered into some strange, alternative reality? But then I was told: this pyjamafest was for Children In Need. Now everything made sense! Had I been warned I’d have gone in my onesie. Mind you I could have pointed out that if we had a properly funded social care system such bizarre events would be unnecessarily, but that would have been far less fun.

A week or so ago I came across a post on a Facebook page for communication aid users which I found utterly insulting. It was a picture of a dog sat by a mat covered with coloured buttons. The person who posted it was insisting that the dog was somehow using the buttons to communicate, like many communication aid users do. I was appalled. It’s no secret that I do not like dogs; I probably inherited that dislike from my dad, who referred to dogs as Mobile Crap Droppers or MCDs. They are foul selfish creatures that people have, for some reason, taken to projecting thoughts and emotions onto, in the fanciful pretence that they are the moral and intellectual equivalent of human infants.

I find that notion repugnant for various reasons. Dog owners seem to think that they are on a par with parents, claiming a social cache they have no right to. Raising a child to adulthood is a honourable, worthy process which takes years of hard, patient work; feeding a dog, walking it and picking up it’s shit barely compares. Yet the way in which some dog owners seem to want to infantilise their pets, talking to them like children, carrying them around and even – believe it or not – pushing them around in prams implies a kind of anthropomorphisation which I find perverse. Dogs should be treated as dogs, not children; and caring for a dog does not make you equivalent to a parent.  Or, to put it another way, some dog owners seem to use their pets as surrogates for relationships with other people – probably children – in a way which I doubt is psychologically healthy.

Moreover I object strongly to the noxious, intellectually baseless insistence that dogs can use aac, firstly because it essentially states that communication aid users such as myself function at the same level as an animal. The dog in the link I found was clearly just pressing random buttons to get rewards; any emotion or significance people might derive from that is projected onto it. It was clear in the video I saw that the dog was not pressing buttons in order to trigger a word or message, as some AAC users to; it was simply walking over the mat, sniffing the buttons and walking on. To truly be said to be attempting to communicate the dog would have to consistently press the same button to get the same response: it obviously was not doing so.

Some contend that every ‘social’ animal is capable, at some level, of communication. Of course, all animals usually have some way of expressing basic needs, but the operative word there is basic. When it comes to abstract thought and the expression of abstract ideas, that requires a level of brain function only we humans have. For starters, it requires knowledge of an extensive lexicon of sound symbols, and their meanings: as the relationship between a symbol and what it symbolises is arbitrary (de Sasseur), and this requires a degree of cognitive flexibility dogs simply do not have, they can only be said to have the most basic understanding of words. In Pavlov’s famous experiment, the dogs salivated when the bell rang because they remembered food usually followed; you cannot then claim it functioned like language.

More to the point, to try to claim this video showed a dog trying to communicate and should therefore be considered on a par with an AAC user is a form of anthropomorphism which is insulting to AAC users like myself. What I found offensive was that this link appeared to claim that the only thing preventing dogs communicating at the same level as humans was a lack of a communication aid, implying that communication aid users in a way function at the same level as household pets. I might drool, but I assure you, using my communication aid – understanding what is said to me, and then composing sentences in response – uses a lot more brain function than a dog has.

The pretence that dogs are equivalent to communication aid using children is an insult to all AAC users, many of whom have had to struggle with all their/our might for the right to express ourselves. The fact that the link in question would go as far as to cite Rosemary Crossley herself made it clearer still that they had no idea what they were talking about, as if they were carrying on the work of that great pioneer of facilitated communication in helping the voiceless to communicate. A dog sniffing randomly at coloured buttons on a mat is not the same as a child with cerebral palsy trying with all their might to hit the right button on a tray to ask for a drink or be taken to the loo. (presumably a dog would just sit by it’s bowl or bark at the door). This is another instance of dog-loving balm-pots claiming things for their animals they have no right to; only this time they have gone too far, and they have really pissed me off.

Having just watched Bill Tayor’s quite lengthy testimony at the Trump impeachment inquiry, I  just need to say, it will be absolutely absurd if Trump hasn’t resigned by the ten o’clock news. Taylor just spent a couple of hours detailing what happened when; everything he said was backed up by evidence. Surely it is beyond all doubt that Trump was willing to withhold support to Ukraine (the importance  of which Taylor made clear to me) unless it investigated Muller. It could hardly be clearer: trump was willing to put his  own objectives ahead of his  country. How the hell can they or any sensible country not just boot that criminal scumbag out  of government?

Problem: flicking a large spot of coffee onto your glasses after Dom has left, and having no PA around to clean them until six this evening.

Solution: whizz to Specsavers on Eltham High Street, explain the situation, and  ask the kind lady there to clean them. Problem solved – boom! What’s more, she assured me that I could always go back if my glasses needed cleaning again.

One of the things I like most about using London public transport, especially the busses, is the range of languages you hear on them, from Panjabi to Polish to Russian. As a large, multicultural metropolis, it’s what you would expect. One of the tongues I’ve  recently been introduced to, mainly by my new PA Alistair, is Jamaican Creole. I heard him speaking it the other day as he was cooking my dinner, and again just now spoken by a lady on the bus. Most of the words in the  creole are English or English in origin, but the grammar and word order stem from languages from West Africa, so you get  an intriguing evolution of english, spoken by slaves and their descendants in the Caribbean and now being imported back into London. That, I must say, fascinates me: I’ve always liked words and writing, and the way in which languages change over time as  they are exposed to all kinds of influences. I also think the cultural melting pot that London is make it a perfect place to watch such evolutionary processes in action.

This has been a very interesting weekend for me on the film/cultural front, largely thanks to John. Firstly, late on Thursday night, he suggested going up to The Barbican on Friday to see Midnight Traveller. I had never heard of it, but from the online reviews it looked very interesting indeed.

That turned out to be an  understatement: I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more powerful, compelling piece of film. It tells the story of a family from Afghanistan trying to  make it to Europe. It’s a documentary shot entirely using mobile phones, so it feels very real and raw. The hardships the family had to endure, shipped from refugee camp to refugee  camp, paying off shady contact after shady contact, made me think just how lucky I am. There is a lot to be said about this film. It’s very gritty and gruelling, yet shot through with moments of humour  which give it a humanity which I found utterly compelling. I was also fascinated by the way it was shot: It  clearly used mobile phone footage, but the editing is so proficient you do not notice it. It has a solid plot structure and editing style. I could say a lot about it, but I need to watch it again first.

After the screening, there was an audience talk with the producer and one of the men in the film. How cool is that? We got to ask them questions and congratulate them on making such an outstanding, astounding film.

That, however, wasn’t all.. Yesterday I had another filmic treat. Our initial plan was to go to Peckham to see the sequel to The Shining, but because of the busses we got there too late, so instead we saw Official Secrets, a dramatisation of how a whistleblower called Katherine Gunn tried to expose the fact that our then government was trying to deceive the UN over the  legitimacy of the war  in iraq, and the disgusting lengths the government went to to try to  stop her. It was another incredibly moving film, and I left the cinema disgusted that such things could still happen in this country. Mind you, I did raise an eyebrow at the fact that a film about Labour’s stupidity would be released just at the moment when the Tories are trying to deflect attention away from theirs, but that aside, this is a powerful, important film which I think everyone should see – the second of the weekend.

Here’s a thought: does the fact that I live in London, have a degree and have socially tolerant tendencies mean I am part of the Metropolitan Elite? If so  that’s a first – I’ve never been elite at anything.

Although it is now well over fifty years old, the James Bond films are  always set in the contemporary, present day: when each film comes out, the narrative and setting always reflects the period when it was made. I was just out on one of my exploratory  rolls, though, when I had a thought: would it be interesting/cool if that changed? Ian Fleming’s books are set in the cold war era of the fifties and sixties, so perhaps it’s time for 007 to go back to his roots. The next Bond film, No Time  To Die, has already finished shooting; that will apparently be Daniel Craig’s last film before another actor takes over the role,  so might that present the franchise with an opportunity  for a change of tack?

After all, we live in highly politicised, heated  times; to continue setting Bond in the present would  mean invoking some of the controversies we are currently going through. If I was a producer of these films, I would want to avoid that at all cost for fear of offending one  political group or another. Bond works for the uk government, though, so how could they not mention Brexit? It would surely feel  like the film was avoiding the biggest elephant in the room ever. The moment you do so, though, you enter a minefield,  risking accusations of the franchise becoming a political tool for one side or the other, and thus a lot of negative publicity.

The obvious way out, it seems to me, would be to re-set Bond in the fifties or sixties. The next few films could then be period pieces. Of course, it would mean a change of tone for the films,  but this way, they could avoid having to enter into contemporary political debates. Or rather, they  could still comment on them, but more covertly and allegorically. With Russian meddling in both the Brexit Referendum and 2016 American election now undeniable, it’s pretty obvious that the Cold War hasn’t really ended. What better way to comment on this new phase of it than to make a   film about the first? It would  be far more  subtle, yet avoid Bond becoming entangled in  contemporary political divisions.

I think this is another excellent reason not to vote Tory. The p’tahks have announced plans to hold a Festival of Brexit Britain in 2022. They say they want to show Britain off to the world and reunite the country and all that bollocks, when it’s obvious that they just want to waste colossal amounts of money on a self-congratulatory egofest.  2022 will be the queen’s platinum jubilee, as well as the ten year anniversary of the London 2012 olympics, so they obviously want a resurgence of the spirit of national unity we experienced then. But it won’t work: any sensible person now sees Brexit as little more than a crime, and a festival celebrating that travesty will just add insult to injury. At best,  this event will be an opportunity for us to get together and protest.

I just got back from visiting Lyn in Charlton. It was the first time I’d seen her since moving out two weeks ago, and I had been in two minds about going: On the one hand I don’t want to loose contact with her entirely,  but on the other I don’t want to seem clingy by visiting too often. Today, though, I decided to bite the bullet: I’d left a couple of things there I was keen to pick up, so I decided to just go say hi.

I bumped into John in charlton, en route to PA for Lyn, who  confirmed I would probably be welcome. He suggested I wait an hour or so, to give  L time to get  up. An hour later, John was proved right: I needn’t have worried, as Lyn greeted me warmly. There wasn’t a shred of the animosity I’d for some reason been worrying about, and we chatted like two old friends. Not wanting to get in the way I only stayed an hour or so, but Lyn assured me I was welcome to visit fairly regularly, so that was fine. I also told L she was very welcome  to visit me here in Eltham whenever she wanted. As I came home on the bus, it felt like a small cloud which had been hanging over me had been lifted: L   and I  are still cool; going our own way now, but still good friends.

To be honest I really do not know what to make of this story. Top Gear presenter Paddy McGuiness and his wife were apparently verbally assaulted by a man for parking in a disabled parking bay. They have three children with autism, and therefore have a blue badge, but the man  disputed their right to park there because they didn’t look disabled.

As soon as you start opening this story up it becomes an ethical minefield, Disabled parking spaces are at a premium, so part of me thinks they should be reserved for people whose disabilities effect our mobility. Yet that immediately raises the question, how do you define a mobility impairment? Do  you need to be a wheelchair user? If so, what  about those  of us who can walk short  distances? Aa soon as you start trying to limit blue badge parking spaces to people with certain kinds of disabilities, you open yourself up to  a rhetorical minefield: as the article states, it can be argued that conditions like Autism can effect mobility, or that people with it need the wider, closer parking spaces just as much as people with conditions like cp.

Yet there is a small, cynical voice in my head which has a problem with  that;  which says that disabilities, particularly so-called invisible ones, seem to be in fashion these days, More and more people seem to be claiming to have an invisible disability or mental health problem in order to tap into a  kind of  social position: that of brave, downtrodden outsider persevering against societal oppression. In this case McGuiness’ wife Christine seems keen to assert that all three of her kids have autism, despite only two having been diagnosed: why do I get the impression that this is more a case of a tv star being too entitled and  privileged to park alongside everyone else and demanding a parking space closer to their destination?

Of course I feel guilty for admitting that; I have no right to begrudge anyone their blue badge. Yet if I was forced to park further away from somewhere  because all the disabled spaces were taken up by people who were perfectly ambulant, would that really be fair?The further people with conditions like cerebral palsy need to walk, the harder walking becomes and the more likely we are to fall and hurt ourselves. But then, how does that trump anyone else’s need for the same parking space? The problem is, more and more people seem to be being diagnosed with increasing kinds of invisible disabilities these days, but with only a certain number of disabled parking spaces, some tough decisions might have to be made.

Have you noticed how, these days, Nigel Farage walks around in public flanked by two or three big heavy bodyguards? It’s  as if someone was out to get him, or  something. After ail, why would you need such protection if you weren’t an important political figure? Unless, of course, that was just an impression  that you wanted people to get…

The truth is, scumbag though he is, only a fool would want to hurt or assassinate farage, as it would just play into the hands of the far right.  By walking around with these bodyguards, though, Farage is trying to not only portray himself as far more important than he is, but also imply that his political adversaries – those of us on the left – are now so crazy and radicalised that we threaten his safety. It’s a cheap con trick by a cheap con artist. As you can read here, his grip on reality is increasingly tenuous; Farage is an egotistical prick with a greatly  overinflated idea of his own importance. If only the media stopped paying him any attention and left him to his vile, bigoted jabberings. But they don’t, and through little tricks like this Farage draws attention to himself, as if his baseless, uneducated views matter far more than they actually do.

What better example could there be of a great reaction to the current growing intolerance in the uk? Speak english? Yes we do, as well as…

Note to self: next halloween, buy sweets. (Now I’m in my own home, this is the type of little detail I really must keep track of.)

Something I found quite interesting and noteworthy happened today. I had a meeting with my social worker this afternoon. He’s Deaf so a sign language interpreter usually joins us at our meetings, but today there was apparently no BSL interpreter available. That was, however, not a problem: I typed what I wanted to say into my ipad as usual while he wrote what he wanted to tell me onto a pad of paper. I’m sure you can imagine the scene, both of us sat in a small room in The Woolwich Centre: neither speaking in the usual sense but nonetheless communicating perfectly, the room silent apart from my Ipad and frequent laughter. It worked very well, striking me as a great example of how disabilities should not constitute any kind of barrier. At the very least I thought it deserved noting on here.

If you ask me, this is exactly the sort of thing we need right now. The Little Britain crew are reuniting to do a  one-off Brexit special,  Little Brexit. That is exactly the sort of cultural response to the current cultural absurdity we need: artists of  all kinds need to use their skill to react to and show discontent at what is going on. In this case, some very skilled comedians are reviving some well established, well known characters in order to mock the current situation. By reusing established characters rather than creating new ones, they can illustrate how they and thus the country has been changed by Brexit. It is only through such cultural  reactions that the stupidity of brexit can be articulated and  stopped, so we need much more things like this. The only thing I would change would be to have it on TV rather than the radio in order to reach a bigger audience, but there is time yet.

After a week of having to use  my Ipad as a Wifi hotspot, I am relieved to say that I am now  back online properly.  The  BT technician came this morning to set broadband up, and I’m now surfing the web as normal. It’s quite a relief: it got so bad yesterday that I couldn’t get online at all in the afternoon, which for me was very,  very frustrating.

Now that I have proper web access, I can catch up with what I’ve missed. I just watched the first episode of Sir  David Attenborough’s new program, Seven Worlds, One Planet, and all I can say   is, ”Wow!” I am, once again, in awe off Sir David and the programs he narrates. The subject was fascinating, the photography stunning. The episode focussed on Antartica  and the various ways animals  survive down there. Even watching it on my computer, the images were riveting and  I couldn’t help  being drawn into the various animals’ stories, such as that of a young bird chick struggling to get back into it’s mother’s nest.

But then, we should expect nothing less from  the programs of Sir David Attenborough. For all our lives, for almost seventy years, he has presented the best shows on television. My generation, and indeed my parent’s generation, grew up with him. I remember watching his  shows as a little boy and teenager living  with my parents and brothers; at uni I remember going to Steve and Chris’s to watch Life Of Mammals; I remember lounging on the sofa at Lyn’s watching some of  his great programs of the last decade; and now, here in my new home, his legacy and legend continues. He has been a  constant source of inspiration and fascination for the whole country, throughout our lives. Very few other public figures, apart, perhaps, for the Queen, can have the same sort of cultural cache. I  find that truly, truly remarkable.

You know that things really have got fucked up when the joke currently  calling himself the prime minister starts to use bots to post approving responses to his social media output. Presumably Johnson wants to counteract all the negative responses he gets to his Facebook posts,  but it doesn’t take a degree in media studies to tell all the nearly identical posts are produced by bots.

It appears that Bojo has announced he will delay Brexit, but only if MPs agree to hold a general election in december. While part of me suspects this could be some kind of trick, surely this is the best news we’ve had in a while: not only  is this another step towards Brexit’s ultimate and inevitable demise, but it also gives us the opportunity to get rid  of the jokes currently running the country.

When I was growing up I used to love the fields of cheshire. Every school day I was driven, in a taxi, the fourteen miles from Congleton to Winsford, a patchwork of fields stretching each side of the winding road into the distance. I also used to drive my powerchair up the lanes to Swetenham. I loved how tranquil the fields  looked, how they smelled in the peaceful country air. It’s the only thing I have really missed since moving to London: of course there are  plenty of wonderful  parks, but they aren’t really the same.

Today, however, I found something special. I was out on my usual stroll this afternoon when I decided to check out Eltham Palace. I  hadn’t really gone that way before, and I felt like a bit of exploration. What I  found, I must admit, amazed me: a beautiful 1930s house built onto a medieval tudor hall. It was  highly  romantic  and evocative, instantly transporting me back to the hot golden summers of the twenties and thirties. I half expected Ian Fleming, Earnest Hemingway  or (dare I say it) Mr. Toad to appear from somewhere.

The real treat for me, though, came when I went down the lane past  the house and gardens. It was ancient, completely untouched by the metropolis; fields, populated by grazing shire horses, stretched either side. For a few moments as I drove my powerchair along it, I was back in Cheshire on my way to school, or heading up the lanes to Swettenham.

I have woken up quite early today for some reason. It may be due to going to bed  so early yesterday, after a long, tiring day.  I’m still sorting things out in my new home, and most  of yesterday was spent trying to get my computer online. My new Wifi router will come on friday, so, long story short, I’m currently having to use my Ipad as a hotspot. It’s slow, but does the trick. Between that and 1001 other things  I need to sort out, I don’t think I’ll have much chance to write any good long blog entries for a few days. But don’t worry: my usual ill-informed ramblings will resume in due course.

This is my first blog entry from my new flat in Eltham, probably the first of many. I have finally moved. To be honest saying goodbye to Lyn earlier was bloody hard: having lived with her for nearly ten years, I am still very fond of her, but  parted on good terms, and it probably won’t be too long before we see each other again. For nw though, I really must thank  my parents for busting a gut to help me set up my new home; they have really been incredible. Thanks  to them, this place is already starting to feel like home: rather different to Lyn’s, but more like mine.

In the end, I decided to go up to Westminster yesterday. It was towards the end of the day and so I missed the main protest. Yet I felt I couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. I got there just as most people were starting to go home, but there were still plenty of people there. The thing is, whenever I go up there, I always get so agitated and angry, I feel compelled to argue with every Leave campaigner I see. This issue makes me fly into uncontrollable rages: do these morons not care what Brexit will do to the country, or that those of us with disabilities stand to suffer particularly badly because of it? But then, from the looks of the pictures of the People’s Vote yesterday, I’m not the only one who feels so strongly about this. The question now is, how can the scumbags in parliament have the gall to pretend such protests and such anger does not exist?

I’ll probably not go to the big Remain march tomorrow. I know I  should, but these days I find I get so angry about politics that I just boil over and lose control. Besides, I have so much stuff to do here that I cannot afford to spend time going on political protests, as strongly as I feel about the issue. In a way, I feel like the country itself, on the verge of a huge change which it didn’t really ask for and about which it  is by no means sure. I can’t help thinking it’s all a complete mess.

No sensible person can now deny climate change is real, but where do you draw  the line between protesting to draw public  attention to it, and disrupting public transport and pissing commuters  off to attract media attention to one’s pressure group? If you ask me, the disruption on public transport in  London today had nothing to do with climate change – there are, after all,  far more efficient ways to protest – but everything to do with a pressure group made up of middle class privileged egotists feeling neglected and wanting to get their  faces on telly.

I took a roll up to the Olympic park late this afternoon, just to see what was going on there. I noticed quite a bit of building work in progress, so, getting home, I did a bit of Googling. I found what I came across very exciting: East Bank looks like a fantastic project, combining universities, museums, music and culture. If all goes to plan, that entire area looks like it has an exciting, vibrant future ahead of it, and I’m now wondering if I can somehow get involved as a writer and/or filmmaker.

I think the most amusing thing I can link to today is this story  in the Metro. A poll ITV ran asking viewers whether Piers Morgan should be fired over his intolerant views has backfired spectacularly: they voted  by 58% to  say he should be fired. As you might guess, the dipshit is not happy, claiming that the poll was somehow hijacked by leftist snowflakes. If you ask me, though, that scumbag had no business being on TV in the first place: ITV wanted him to spout all that fascist bullshit merely to get attention and ratings. They wanted to tap into a sense of neglect felt by a certain minority, left behind and confused by modern liberal social trends. It’s exactly the same minority Farage and Trump pander to. By spouting all this bigoted shit,  they tell people it’s ok to be reactionary morons who don’t have to engage with or accept any form of culture other than their own; it lets them off the intellectual hook. Sucking up to intolerant halfwits may attract certain viewers, but it’s something which should  have no place on British TV, and I’ll be pissed off if ITV don’t do as the poll asks and fires the piece of shit.

As far as I’m concerned there was no queen’s speech today; there was no queen’s speech because we don’t have a government I respect.  Instead, squatting in Downing street we have a total asshole; a proven liar whom we should all be ashamed was allowed to rise to the position he now holds. Besides, as I explained yesterday, I’m currently far too preoccupied to  concern myself with politics; and whenever I do these days I always get so  wound up it’s embarrassing, so it’s probably better to just ignore the entire farcical mess altogether.

If change is necessary and inevitable, why am I feeling like this? Tomorrow I  start the move over  to Eltham,  out from Lyn’s into my own place. I know it’s for the best: after ten years with Lyn, we both need our own space. She remains one of my best friends, and I agree with her that this change is what our friendship needs. Yet I currently feel very insecure, as though the securities I’ve been used to over  the last decade have now vanished. I know that, in time, I’ll re-establish them, but this evening, on the cusp of change, that task seems a daunting, frightening one. At the same time, I’m looking forward to having my own home, yet I’m worried about screwing it all  up.

I was strongly considering going up to the Roundhouse last Saturday, to see what I could observe of the attempt to set the record for the most gumbys in one place. In the end, though, I opted to stay home: as much as I adore Monty Python, I decided it wasn’t worth the effort  of dressing up and heading halfway across London, merely to participate in a gathering of  similarly clad fans. Had it been a larger  event, and had the other Python cast members other than just Terry Gilliam been there, then perhaps it would have been more enticing; but having been to their full reunion in 2014, I wasn’t that fussed. However, I am starting to regret my decision a little, having just come across this video of the event. It might not have been a full on reunion, but such events keep  Monty Python alive: from the  look of it, it was great fun. Now that we have  probably seen the last ever performance of the parrot sketch by it’s original creators, fan events like the one last saturday carry the Python spirit on. I should have gone. Then again, getting a knotted hanky to stay on my head might have been rather tricky.

Zark knows whether it’s authentic or not, but when I saw this earlier, browsing Facebook on the bus, I burst out laughing so loudly that I got a few concerned stares from my fellow passengers.

Two or three weeks ago, John mentioned going to see a show with Sir Ian McKellen: Naturally I leaped at the idea: I’ve been a bit  of a fan  of McKellen’s since he played  Gandalf. After that, though,  I put the idea to the back of my mind and concentrated on other things. But yesterday afternoon I got a message from J inviting me to meet him up at Green Park to see McKellen’s one man show. Busy though I am with the move, how could I refuse the opportunity to see one of my favourite actors?

I met my friend at the Harold Pinter Theatre. Going  in I didn’t quite know what to expect, but nonetheless I was in for a treat. McKellen gave a very, very impressive  solo performance, essentially talking on stage for three hours with a fifteen minute break, covering a range of topics from religion to sexuality. He is clearly a very intelligent man with a vast amount of experience. Of course, the parts I enjoyed most was when he spoke about Tolkien and the filming of The Lord Of The Rings: he opened the piece with a recounting of the bridge at Khazad Dum, and Gandalf’s fight with the Balrog. It was a treat for both the Tolkien geek and film buff in me. He went into quite a bit of detail, which I found fascinating.

He rounded off the evening with Shakespeare, reciting many, many soliloquies he knows by heart from almost all the plays. I found myself amazed by his memory, but also by his deep knowledge of the plays and their histories. While some might dismiss shows like the one I saw last  night as an old thespian’s ego trip, or his attempt to earn a bit of  cash, nonetheless  I feel   I gained a valuable insight into a great actor, his personality and life experience.

You’re probably quite relieved that it has been a while since I wrote anything about the Olympics or the 2012 opening ceremony on here. That’s just as  well; the moment has passed. Yet I can’t help noticing  the stark contrast in the social atmosphere between then and now: just seven years  ago, the country, and London especially, felt abuzz with friendliness and warmth. We were one country working together  to put on the  world’s greatest show. Now look at  us: it’s frightening how divided we are, with one side  protesting against the other. Of course I’m not the first person to note how angry people are becoming. I get stupidly angry as an effect of my cerebral palsy, but everyone else seems to be becoming just as pissed off over Brexit, It’s as if nobody can abide anyone holding a contrary view any more. Massive protests are held by either side,   both viewing the other with something approaching white hot hatred, hurling  insults and abuse. Think back to  2012 and the contrast in the atmosphere really is chilling. More to the point, though, we should all be very worried about where this is heading.

I think the best thing I can do on here today would be to direct everyone here. The new Picard trailer was released online yesterday,  but it’s far too exciting for me not to flag up. Of course,  there are already a shitload of fan reactions on the web, trying to break it down,  shot by shot. You’ll forgive me if I don’t try to emulate them, apart from saying that it’s good to see a few more of our old TNG friends returning too, alongside their captain. To be honest I’m going through a bit  of a dark time at the mo; I’m just glad the return of Jean-Luc Picard gives me something to look forward to.

Staying on the subject of Monty Python, how about this for a contemporary take on a classic.

I wonder what it would take for John Cleese and the two Ronnies (or anyone really) to perform such a sketch. I daresay  it would make an interesting comment on the current political state of affairs.

Today is a very auspicious  day in my opinion: today marks fifty years since Monty Python’s Flying Circus was first broadcast, an event which arguably  changed British  comedy  forever. Apart from an attempt to break the record for the most Gumbys gathered in one place, I haven’t seen much to mark this  anniversary – there don’t seem to be any programmes about Python on  tv tonight, for one. However, I think the best thing I can  do to mark the occasion would be to flag this outstanding article by my old friend Chris Flacket up.

While  I can’t say I agree with every point he makes (I think he goes slightly too far in the  explanation that not all intelligent people live in London) I have to say I feel a bit embarrassed by my old university friend’s  work. This is a proper, scholarly article of two to three thousand words which puts the superficial things I mostly spew on here to shame. It is quite a deep analysis of python, looking at both it’s history and structure. And like all good analysis, it leaves the reader even more interested than when one started. I hadn’t really thought, for example, about  Python’s relationship with the music industry, and about how, in a way, the comedy troupe grew to resemble a rock band, producing records and going on tours.

Chris, like me, is a Python fan. I’ll always count watching those guys live in 2014 as one of the greatest moments of my life. Reading Chris’ article/essay just now again put that evening in perspective. Imagine getting to see  a legendary rock band whose music you love, thought to have split up forever years ago, get  back together to perform virtually on your doorstep. It was quite, quite incredible: one  of those events which  demonstrate how awesome life can get. For me, for Chris and for countless other people, there  is something  about the humour of Python which sets it apart: it is very random and zany as well as having a weight of intelligence behind it. Yet there is also  something else: a humanity and empathy to it. Whether it’s to Always look on the bright side of life, how to arrange  flowers or what to wear when felling trees, Python has something to say about the human condition we could all learn from.